


Giving Back

by smarshtastic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Blackwatch, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Prosthesis, Tattoos, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 03:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11267262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: He presses the jagged edge of the knife against the inside of Jesse’s arm, right where the image of the skull is tattooed on his skin. Spots of blood well up, making the skull look like it's crying blood. Jesse grits his teeth.---In which Jesse runs into his old gang and has to return something he'd taken from them.





	Giving Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vageege](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vageege/gifts), [super](https://archiveofourown.org/users/super/gifts).



> Second to last of the summer stockpile, heavily inspired by [that one _Sons of Anarchy_ episode](http://sonsofanarchy.wikia.com/wiki/Giving_Back). So, sorry for that. 
> 
> Special thanks to [fabrega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/) for betaing, as usual! 
> 
> This one is for [Robin](https://twitter.com/ROBINS) and [Liz](https://twitter.com/vageege) to congratulate them on their nuptials. They picked it. I mean, they didn't *know* it would be this but... Congrats to the happy couple. 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://wictorwictor.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/smarshtastic)!

Jesse wakes in pain. He twists in place, trying to find a more comfortable position, but he can’t move at all. He seems to be sitting in a chair. It's heavy - he can't move it. Ropes bite into his chest, his arms, his throat. His head is pounding. He pries a swollen eye open. The lights are too bright, buzzing over his head. It’s a familiar sound that makes Jesse’s heart sink past his stomach. As his eyes adjust to the lights, Jesse realizes with growing dread that his first instinct was right. 

This is a Deadlock warehouse. 

Jesse swallows thickly as his heart rate picks up. He can’t remember, exactly, how he ended up here. He had been on a mission with Blackwatch - something about weapons, somewhere where it was hot and dry. He must have gotten separated, beaten, captured… 

Deadlock. 

Jesse forces himself to take a deep breath through his nose in an attempt to steady his heart rate. It does almost nothing - especially as a door creaks open somewhere behind him, and several pairs of heavy footsteps come towards him. Jesse stiffens in his seat. 

“Well, well, well. Jesse McCree. We thought you were dead,” a familiar voice drawls. Jesse doesn’t turn his head - he can’t - but the speaker comes around Jesse’s side and stands in front of him. Jesse’s hand clenches against the rope around his arm. He knew Skags when he was a boy; one of the senior members of Deadlock when Jesse’s father first joined the gang, Skags was a ruthless man, covered in tattoos and scars. Jesse knows how handy Skags is with a knife and pliers, how Skags knows how to make a man beg for death. Skags’ scarred-over, milky white eye is no less sinister than it used to be. His smile still stretches too far on either side of his face, the scars at the corners of his mouth catching the light buzzing overhead. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Jesse says. Skags snorts. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. This is a joyous reunion, ain’t it, boys?”

There’s a murmur of agreement behind Jesse. He feels his heartbeat in his throat. 

“It’s been awhile. You look as ugly as ever, Skags,” Jesse says. Skags leers at Jesse. 

“Where are those manners, hm? You used to be so polite.”

Skags grabs Jesse by the throat before he can manage a retort. Jesse chokes, the rope pressing tighter against his adam’s apple. Skags leans in to speak. His breath is sour with liquor. 

“My boys told me you still got something of mine,” Skags growls, voice low. “You know we don't take kindly to thieves.”

Jesse spits. Skags lets go of his neck to hit Jesse across the face. Jesse sees stars, his vision threatening to go dark. When he manages to regain his sight, Jesse see Skags swiping the spit out of his good eye, laughing darkly. Skags unsheathes a knife from his belt - it's a huge hunting knife with a mean-looking jagged edge. Jesse recognizes it immediately. He swallows with difficulty. 

“I don't have any of your worthless shit,” Jesse says. Skags wags the knife at him. 

“See, that's where you're wrong,” Skags says. He goes for the sleeve on Jesse’s left arm. Jesse’s fingers clutch at the arm of the chair as Skag’s knife makes messy work of his sleeve, leaving behind a trail of blood as he cuts the fabric away. Skags rubs the flat of the knife against the tattooed skin of Jesse’s left arm. It sends a chill down Jesse’s spine. “I remember when we gave you this. We were so proud. And then - first chance you got - you sold us out.”

“That ain't how it happened,” Jesse grits out. His blood is rushing in his ears. He knows what's coming, he knows there's nothing he can do to stop it. 

“That's exactly what happened. Nobody walks away from Deadlock, least of all a fucking traitor,” Skags says. He presses the jagged edge of the knife against the inside of Jesse’s arm, right where the image of the skull is tattooed on his skin. Spots of blood well up, making the skull look like it's crying blood. Jesse grits his teeth. 

“Take it back, then,” Jesse says. Skags laughs again. 

“Oh, we're gonna. But if you think you're gonna walk outta here after we do, you've got another thing coming.”

Skags looks past Jesse, lifting the knife to gesture to the men behind him. Jesse shifts restlessly, as much as the ropes binding him to the chair will let him. His heart is pounding in spite of his best efforts. There's no way he's getting out of this one. 

“After all you've taken from us, McCree, it's about time you gave back,” Skags says as a man brings a blow torch to him. He sets it on the ground next to him. “We all want our pound of flesh. And we’re sure as hell gonna get it.” 

Skags gestures to Jesse. “Hold him.”

Two sets of hands pull Jesse’s shoulders back, fingers digging in, holding him still tighter against the chair. Jesse struggles almost nominally but he knows he's not going anywhere. He tries to turn his head, but another set of hands roughly turn his head back, forcing it towards his left arm. 

“Watch,” Skags demands. 

“Fuck you,” Jesse bites out. “Fuck you - fuck you - fuck -!”

Skags digs the tip of his knife into Jesse’s skin. He roughly traces the outline of the banner with Deadlock’s name, carving the strip of skin out of Jesse’s arm. Skags pulls it free and dangles the strip of flesh in front of Jesse’s face. 

“You're a fucking disgrace, McCree. You're just gettin’ what's been coming to you for a long time.”

Skags digs the knife into Jesse’s arm again. He cries out this time, feeling the strange feeling of metal on bone. He thrashes, but the hands and ropes are too tight. The pain flares bright and hot in his arm as Skags mangles it, cutting pieces of Jesse’s Deadlock tattoo away bit by bit. The men holding Jesse jeer and egg him on. Skags eats it up, putting on a show for them. He holds each strip of flesh up to Jesse’s face, laughing as the gore drips from his fingers. Jesse’s vision swims, the bile coming up his throat. He's trying to keep it down, trying to keep the sounds from coming out, but with each twist of the knife, Jesse’s tenuous grip on his composure weakens. 

The blowtorch is what puts him over the edge. Skags fires it up and holds it over the mess of what's left of Jesse’s left arm. Jesse’s fingers scrabble desperately, jerkily, his whole body shaking as the smell of burned fabric and hair and flesh wafts up towards him. He screams until the smoke stings his throat, until he can't make a sound. The edges of his vision are going dark. He's struggling to stay conscious, body jerking against his bindings. Most of the feeling is blessedly - finally - gone from his arm, but the smell is sickening. 

Suddenly, Jesse’s world tips over as his chair crashes sideways to the floor. He lands on his mangled arm and cries out. He sees, for a moment, several pairs of boots rushing in, and then Skags is on the floor in front of Jesse, eyes vacant, bleeding from his temple. He's still grinning. 

Jesse passes out. 

Consciousness comes back to him, briefly, when he's lifted up off the ground by two pairs of strong hands. Jesse struggles a little, as best he can. 

“Don't -” he says weakly, hoarsely. 

“We got you.”

Jesse tries to focus, eyes blurred with pain. Edwards is there, holding him up with Gabe. 

“It's alright, Jesse,” Gabe is saying. “You're safe now.”

Jesse passes out again and doesn't wake up for a long time. 

=-=-=

Jesse wakes to a shooting pain in his left arm. He cries out, goes to grab his arm - only to find nothing there. Panic rises in his throat with bile. 

“Jesse - Jesse - it's alright. Listen to me,” a voice says above him. Strong, steady hands push Jesse back down to the bed. He struggles for a moment before a hand slides up to cup his cheek. “Jesse. It's me - look at me.”

Jesse peels his eyes open with difficulty, taking a moment to focus in the semi-darkness of the infirmary. Gabe hovers over him, face stiff with worry. Jesse stops struggling, still breathing hard. 

“My arm -” he croaks. A look passes over Gabe’s face. Gently, tenderly, he pushes Jesse’s sweat-damp hair off his forehead. 

“Angela had to take it,” Gabe says softly. “She couldn't - it's better this way, Jesse.”

Jesse gags. He manages to lean over the side of the bed before he vomits on himself. Gabe strokes Jesse’s hair back. 

“I'm sorry - I'm so sorry - we couldn't get there fast enough -” Gabe murmurs, voice uncharacteristically full of emotion. “I'm sorry, Jesse.”

Jesse slumps half over the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the white infirmary wall. He feels it now - the lightness in his left side, almost masked by the dull ache that the pain medicine hasn't managed to completely erase. He tries to move his fingers, forgetting, for a moment, that they aren't there anymore. He lets out a noise that might be a laugh, bordering on hysterical. 

“Had to give it back,” Jesse rasps. “Dunno how - dunno how I got away with it before.”

Jesse hiccups and it turns into a sob. He lets Gabe bundle him back into the bed, shaking with shock. He clings with his one remaining hand to Gabe’s shirt. He stares at the bandaged stump of his left arm. He thinks he can still feel it - if he just concentrated hard enough, he could still move his fingers. Jesse makes a distressed noise. 

“Shh, shh,” Gabe says soothingly. “You're safe now. It's - it's gonna be okay.”

Jesse can still smell the scent of his own charred flesh. He presses his face into Gabe’s shoulder to blot out the stench. Gabe’s hand rubs his back soothingly. 

“Commander?” Jesse hears Angela’s voice float toward him. He feels Gabe’s head shake. 

“We're okay.”

“But his vitals -”

“I'm taking care of it.”

“If you're sure…”

“We're fine,” Gabe says, not exactly sharply, but with finality. 

She must leave because Gabe gathers Jesse closer to his chest. He presses a kiss into Jesse’s hair. 

“Rest, Jesse. I'll be right here the whole time.”

Jesse can’t get comfortable, can’t relax, but eventually another dose of painkillers is pumped into his IV and he drifts off into a fitful sleep, face pressed into Gabe’s shoulder. 

=-=-=

Angela builds Jesse the best arm Overwatch’s tech can manage. It fits seamlessly with the remainder of Jesse’s left arm. It has fine temperature and pressure sensitivity and is remarkably strong. It’s really a feat of technology. 

Jesse takes a long time to get used to it - the rehabilitation isn’t easy, and Jesse is generally resistant to the psychology bullshit they keep trying to get him to engage with. He’s fine - he’s  _ fine _ , he insists over and over again. He’d seen far worse in Deadlock and came out the other side okay. He’s fine. 

Gabe stays at Jesse’s side every step of the way. He pushes Jesse to do the physical therapy. He gently encourages him to talk to the psychologists. He’s not scared of Jesse’s new hand - unlike Jesse, who is, mostly, still wary of his new limb. 

Jesse lies on his side in Gabe’s bed after a bad day on the range. Nothing feels right. He feels off balance. He flexes his shiny metal fingers that don’t yet feel like his own, watching the joints flex and move soundlessly. The bed dips as Gabe slides up behind him, putting a gentle hand on Jesse’s hip. Jesse tenses for a moment. 

“Hey,” Gabe says into Jesse’s ear. Jesse relaxes, turning his head slightly to look at Gabe. 

“Hey.”

“Bad day?”

Jesse shrugs, dropping his gaze back down to his hand. “Just… not as good as it could be.”

“It’ll get better.”

“We’ve been saying that for weeks, Gabe,” Jesse says. Gabe slips a hand under Jesse’s chin and turns his head to look at him. 

“It’s going to get better,” Gabe says again, holding Jesse’s gaze. Jesse bites his lip and turns over so he can press his face into Gabe’s shoulder. Gabe wraps his arms around him. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

Jesse makes a face into Gabe’s shoulder. Gabe laughs - a deep, rumbling laugh that makes the tension go out of Jesse’s shoulders. He peeks up at him. Gabe raises his eyebrows.

“Too much?”

“Kinda.”

“Sorry,” Gabe leans down and brushes his lips over Jesse’s forehead. Jesse lets a breath out and tips his head up to kiss him properly. Gabe kisses him sweetly, tenderly. It’s a grounding sensation and Jesse gives into it. He needs it. 

Gabe laces his fingers with Jesse’s metal ones. Jesse stiffens again.

“Okay?”

Jesse swallows then nods. “Yeah - yeah, it’s just… It’s still weird.”

“Can I make it less weird?” Gabe asks. Jesse hesitates. 

“Maybe?” he hazards. Gabe lifts Jesse’s metal hand to his lips and kisses the smooth metal on the back of it. 

“How’s that?”

“Fine,” Jesse says. Gabe gives Jesse a critical look. 

“Really?” 

Jesse shifts a little. “It’s weird.”

Gabe keeps moving his fingers against Jesse’s metal ones. “Just different.”

“Yeah.”

Jesse falls quiet, watching Gabe run his fingers over the smooth joints. He can feel his hand warming to Gabe’s - it’s a strange, new feeling, one that’s almost pleasant. He lets Gabe’s hand map out his new one. He’s lulled by Gabe’s firm yet gentle touches. It almost feels natural. Almost like he could get used to it. 

“You know,” Jesse says, softly, quietly. “I thought about getting that tattoo removed for a while anyway. Didn’t seem like me no more.”

Gabe’s hand clenches slightly around Jesse’s. 

“Not like that,” Gabe says, almost a question. Jesse’s laugh is short and humorless. 

“No, not like that,” he agrees. Gabe squeezes his hand more firmly. Jesse squeezes back. “It sort of felt like - people would see that tattoo and make a judgment. And maybe they were right for it.”

Gabe shakes his head. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Jesse, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t who you were.”

Jesse goes quiet, mulling that over. Gabe tips his chin up to kiss him sweetly again. Jesse melts into it. 

“Thanks,” Jesse says against Gabe’s mouth. Gabe finds his metal hand and squeezes it again. 

“I love you, Jesse. Every part of you,” Gabe says. He brings Jesse’s hand to his mouth, kissing each of his metal fingers in turn. “Always have.

=-=-=

Another night, weeks later, Gabe is tucked into Jesse’s side, his head resting on Jesse’s bare chest, fingers tangled with Jesse’s metal ones. The fingers of Gabe’s other hand run up along the inside of Jesse’s forearm. He’s getting used to it, these days. He likes the way his metal arm warms to Gabe’s flesh, and stays warm even after they’re apart. 

“Gabe?” Jesse asks. 

“Mm?” Gabe hums. He’s practically asleep, relaxed in Jesse’s arms. 

“I was thinking about another tattoo,” Jesse says. Gabe picks up his head at that. 

“Yeah?” Gabe asks carefully. Jesse nods. He taps his fingers on the inside of his left forearm arm, brushing Gabe’s. Gabe raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah. Right here,” Jesse says. Gabe doesn’t say anything immediately so Jesse presses on. “The Blackwatch insignia.” 

Gabe looks surprised, then wary. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I am,” Jesse says, holding Gabe’s gaze. “It’s different than - than Deadlock. That was a brand. This is… this is a choice.”

Gabe flattens his hand against Jesse’s forearm. “Are you  _ sure _ ?”

“Yeah, Gabe. I am,” Jesse says again. He gives Gabe a wry smile. “It’s not like it’s gonna hurt.”

Gabe blinks then laugh. Jesse pulls him up to kiss him. 

“Will you do it for me?”

“Me?” Gabe asks, surprised. Jesse nods. 

“Wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it, Gabe,”’ he says. Gabe’s expression softens. 

Gabe hunts down his supplies and Jesse sits up in bed with the sheets pooling in his lap, forearm resting on his thigh. Jesse watches as Gabe leans over his arm, carefully outlining the familiar symbol on the widest part of his forearm. Gabe’s other hand holds Jesse’s wrist in place lightly, just enough to keep Jesse still. He can barely feel the light pressure of Gabe’s brushes, but it still feels intimate, the slow way the bristles graze over metal. Black, white and red. It's a symbol that they crafted together, back when Blackwatch was still getting its legs, back when Jesse still wasn't sure he made the right choice. Gabe trusted him with so much, even in those early days. It was the first time Jesse felt like he was a valuable part of something, the first time that he felt like a real person. And it became something they've been able to nurture together. It's something Jesse is proud of. Something that he wants to carry with him for the rest of his days, wear proudly on his sleeve for all to see. He was a part of something bigger than himself, something that made a difference. He was trusted, respected,  _ loved _ \- that he is loved by Gabe is perhaps the most important part. He doesn't know how to tell Gabe all that, but he hopes Gabe understands. He hopes that Gabe will see the symbol on his arm and know that Jesse would never have been able to get this far without him. 

Gabe takes his time. He puts such care in every detail, checking and re-checking his work, finally blowing lightly over the metal to help the paint dry, eyes lifted to meet Jesse’s gaze. Jesse swallows, mouth suddenly dry. 

“What do you think?” Gabe asks, holding Jesse’s arm up to show him when he’s finished. Jesse breathes out. 

“I love it,” he says, honestly. It’s exactly what he needed, exactly what he was missing. Gabe smiles, open and warm - a smile Jesse only sees when they’re alone together. 

“Really?” Gabe asks, almost shyly, almost like he can't quite believe it. 

“It’s perfect, Gabe,” Jesse says. He kisses Gabe and feels whole again. 

=-=-=

Years later, not long after Jesse leaves Blackwatch, leaves Gabe, he replaces his prosthetic arm. It isn’t nearly as good as Overwatch’s tech to be sure, but it at least he doesn’t have to carry with him the constant reminder of what he lost. Of what he gave up. 

Jesse has learned his lesson: wearing his heart on his sleeve only gets him into trouble. 


End file.
